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Farewell then verse, and love, and ev'ry toy,
The rhymes and rattles of the man or boy ;
What right, what true, what fit we justly call,
Let this be all my care for this is all :
To lay this harvest up, and hoard with haste
What ev'ry day will want, and most, the last.

But ask not, to what doctors I apply?
Sworn to no master, of no sect am I:
As drives the storm, at any door I knock: 25
And house with Montagne now, or now with Locke.
Sometimes a patriot, active in debate,
Mix.with the world, and battle for the state,
Free as young Lyttelton, her cause pursue,
Still true to virtue, and as warm as true :

30 Sometimes with Aristippus, or St. Paul, Indulge my candor, and grow all to all ; Back to my native moderation slide, And win my way by yielding to the tide.

34 Long, as to him who works for debt, the day, Long as the night to her whose love's

Long as the year's dull circle seems to run,
When the brisk minor pants for twenty-one :
So slow th' unprofitable moments roll,
That lock

all the functions of


40 That keep me from myself; and still delay Life's instant business to a future day :



Ver. 29. Free as young Lyt:elton, Afterwards the celebrated Lord Lyttelton.


That task, which as we follow, or despise,
The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise.
Which done, the poorest can no wants endure ;
And which not done, the richest must be poor.

Late as it is, I put myself to school,
And feel some comfort, not to be a fool.
Weak tho' I am of limb, and short of sight,
Far from the lynx, and not a giant quite ; 50
I'll do what Mead and Cheselden advise,
To keep these limbs, and to preserve

these eyes. Not to go back, is somewhat to advance, And men must walk at least before they dance.

Say, does thy blood rebel, thy bosom move 55
With wretched av'rice, or as wretched love?
Know, there are words, and spells, which can control
Between the fits this fever of the soul ;
Know, there are rhymes, which fresh and fresh apply'd
Will cure the arrant’st puppy of his pride. 60
Be furious, envious, slothful, mad, or drunk,
Slave to a wife, or vassal to a punk,
A Switz, a High-Dutch, or a Low-Dutch bear;
All that we ask is but a patient ear.

'Tis the first virtue, vices to abhor;
And the first wisdom, to be fool no more.
But to the world no bugbear is so great,
As want of figure, and a small estate.
To either India see the merchant fly,
Scar'd at the spectre of pale poverty !

70 See


See him, with pains of body, pangs of soul,
Durn through the tropic, freeze beneath the pole!
Wilt thou do nothing for a nobler end,
Nothing to make philosophy thy friend?
To stop thy foolish views, thy long desires,

75 And ease thy heart of all that it admires ? Here, Wisdom calls : “ Seek virtue first, be bold ! “ As gold to silver, virtue is to gold.” There, London's voice : “ Get money, money

still! “ And then let virtue follow, if she will.”

80 This, this the saving doctrine, preach'd to all, From low St. James's up to high St. Paul ; From him whose quills stand quiver'd at his ear, To him who notches sticks at Westminster.

Barnard in spirit, sense, and truth abounds ; 85 “ Pray then, what wants he?" Fourscore thousand

A pension, or such harness for a slave
As Bug now has, and Dorimant would have.
Barnard, thou art a cit, with all thy worth ;
But Bug and D*l, Their Honours, and so forth. 90

Yet ev'ry child another song will sing,
Virtue, brave boys ! 'tis virtue makes a king."


VER. 84. notches sticks] Exchequer tallies.

VER. 85. Barnard] Sir John Barnard, Knicht, was born at Reading, and brought up at a school at Wandsworth in Surry; his parents were Quakers. In 1703, he quitted the Society of Quakers, was received into the church by Compton, Bishop of London, and continued a member of it. He became a celebrated member of Parliament, and an eminent merchant and magistrate of London.


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True, conscious honour is to feel no sin,
He's arm’d without that's innocent within ;
Be this thy screen, and this thy wall of brass ;
Compar'd to this, a minister's an ass.

And say, to which shall our applause belong, ,
This new court jargon, or the good old song ?
The modern language of corrupted peers,
Or what was spoke at CRESSY and Poitiers ?
Who counsels best? who whispers, “ Be but great,
“ With praise or infamy leave that to fate;
“ Get place and wealth, if possible, with grace;
“ If not, by any means get wealth and place."
For what? to have a box where eunuchs sing,
And foremost in the circle eye a king.

106 Or he, who bids thee face with steddy view Proud fortune, and look shallow greatness through: And, while he bids thee, sets th' example too? If such a doctrine, in St. James's air, Should chance to make the well-drest rabble stare ; If honest S*z take scandal at a spark, That less admires the palace than the park : Faith I shall give the answer Reynard gave : " I cannot like, dread Sir, your royal cave : 115 " Because I see, by all the tracks about, “ Full many a beast goes in, but none comes out." Adieu to virtue, if you're once a slave : Send her to court, you send her to her grave.

Well, if a king's a lion, at the least The people are a many-headed beast :



I 20

his own,

Can they direct what measures to pursue,
Who know themselves so little what to do?
Alike in nothing but one lust of gold,
Just half the land would buy, and half be sold: 125
Their country's wealth our mightier misers drain,
Or cross, to plunder provinces, the main ;
The rest, some farm the poor-box, some the pews ;
Some keep assemblies, and would keep the stews ;
Some with fat bucks on childless dotards fawn; 130
Some win rich widows by their chine and brawn;
While with the silent growth of ten per cent,
In dirt and darkness, hundreds stink content.
Of all these

if each

pursues Satire, be kind, and let the wretch alone :

135 But shew me one who has it in his pow'r To act consistent with himself an hour. Sir Job sail'd forth, the ev'ning bright and still, " No place on earth (he cry'd) like Greenwich-hill !" Up starts a palace, lo, th' obedient base

140 Slopes at its foot, the woods its sides embrace, The silver Thames reflects its marble face. Now let some whimsey, or that dev'l within Which guides all those who know not what they mean, But give the knight (or give his lady) spleen ; “ Away, away! take all your scaffolds down,

146 “ For snug's the word: My dear! we'll live in town."

At am'rous Flavio is the stocking thrown? That very night he longs to lie alone.


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